Good ambiguity in serial writing.
“It ain’t what you don’t know
that gets you into trouble.
It’s what you know for sure
that just ain’t so.”
It’s commonly attributed to Mark Twain,
though there’s no solid evidence
he said it;
its true origin
remains uncertain.
A writer who knows everything
behind the page
can easily believe
the reader knows it too.
An easier way to say it:
“What I believe I know.”
ORIGINAL
[
Crows have gathered
at the county road barn
when I round the bend.
Five sit along
the chain-link fence,
feathers puffed
against the cold.
A sixth pecks
at something in the gravel.
Stops when my truck
comes into view.
Turns its head.
Watches.
]
To assume makes an ass
out of you and me.
Most of us are hypo-attentive at best.
We may need to feed breadcrumbs.
to keep the reader engaged.
People have distractions.
Including me.
It’s called life.
And I’ll be honest,
I like it when stories
keep reminding me
where we are.
Reminding me of info
I might’ve forgotten,
especially if it’s technical, scientific, or lengthy.
I feel too often
stories and TV series
keep leaving out important information
along the way.
Or at least
making it too ambiguous
to stand out.
Working too hard to stay with a story
loses the entertainment aspect
and is just tiresome,
wouldn’t you agree?
Entertainment shouldn’t
feel like homework.
The story can
remain intelligent, layered, and mysterious
while still keeping
the reader oriented.
Chapter 6 opening of “Culvert Country”
proves my point.
I knew
what a county road barn was,
why Cal might be there,
and how the clues connected—
but the reader
hadn’t been given those pieces.
Once I added:
[
The Hawthorn County
Road Department
is my last stop.
Fresh stone showed up
on Hawthorn Road
before Wade did.
I want to know
who put it there.
]
The scene
became easier to enter and follow.
The woman, the office, the equipment,
and Cal’s questions
suddenly belonged in the same place.
That wasn’t needless explanation.
It was orientation.
From now on,
this should be a governing rule
for Culvert Country:
Establish where Cal is.
Explain why he went there.
Remind the reader which earlier clue led him there.
Introduce new information in small, memorable pieces.
Repeat important facts when their meaning changes.
Keep technical evidence in plain language.
NONE of this is easy in a serialized story.
No luxury
of rechecking and rechecking,
especially when working alone.
The story is essentially live.
I’ve determined a useful distinction in examples:
Good ambiguity:
We know what Cal found,
but not who caused it or why.
Bad ambiguity:
We don’t know where Cal is,
why he’s there, what he noticed,
or why it matters.
Also,
repetition isn’t automatically bad writing.
This is craft writing.
A clue may need to appear three times:
when the reader first sees it;
when Cal connects it to something else;
when its real meaning is revealed.
Each appearance
gives the same information
a new purpose.
That’s how breadcrumbs work, y’all.
So yes: we should assume distraction,
imperfect memory,
interruptions,
and readers who may have waited days
between chapters.
Every chapter must remain part
of the larger mystery
while also helping the reader
climb back aboard.
Clarity keeps readers entertained;
confusion gives them
—permission to leave.
I strive for perfection.
I fall short of it, anyways.
But if you wanna know what I find, stay tuned.
Thanks for reading,
Kenneth Cupp
